Waiting for the Violins Read Online Free PDF Page A

Autumn-leaf yellow, she calls it, though yours is more tawny. Lioness, perhaps.” He ran his fingers down a few strands of it.
    She flinched at the unwelcome flattery of the molester, all the more because it seemed sincere.
    “Thank you for the compliment, Herr Baron, though I’m afraid your attentions would count as illegal fraternization.” She tried to back away from him but found no place left on the sofa
    His hand was creeping along her shoulder. “My dear, I make the rules for this country, and I exempt us from them. I can assure your car and a petrol ration. Come, dear lady, and comfort a lonely man.” He slid closer, enfolding her in an embrace. His dry lips were already on her neck, and the double scents of wool and French cologne filled her nostrils.
    She thought of the two desperate pilots in her cellar and of the string of others that would come, week after week. The house was critical for their safety, as the car was for transporting them. Lives, scores of them, depended on her overcoming her disgust.
    Though her skin crawled, she forced herself to say, “Just a moment, Baron. Let me lock the door.”

Chapter Six
     
    Beaulieu, Hampshire, England
    January 1942
     
    The mix of gravel and ice crunched loudly as the car pulled up in front of a stately stone building.
    “Nice house,” Antonia remarked. “Gothic, isn’t it?”
    Major Atkins opened the door on his side. “Yes. Apparently it used to be the gatehouse of an abbey. Thirteenth century, they tell me. He stepped out onto the hard-packed snow and came around to her side. “Don’t much care for the style myself. A bit too Knights of the Roundtable for me.” He held the car door open for her.
    “Is that where I’ll be training?” she asked, drawing her coat collar up around her neck and surveying the vast snow-covered estate. “It seems such an anachronism, teaching modern warfare in a medieval building.” She gazed up at the gables and turrets, all with a cap of white. “We should be learning Gregorian chants or how to roast boar.”
    “Wouldn’t that be lovely? But this is just administration, and I’m to deposit you here for check-in. The courses you’ll be taking will be scattered throughout other locations.”
    “Just what are all those courses?” she asked, then chuckled. “I suppose I ought to have asked that sooner, eh?”
    “Well, if you had, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you. It’s all top secret, you know. Some of the groups training here don’t know about all the others. It’s to prevent anyone revealing the whole operation if they’re captured.”
    He leaned in front of her to open the front door, and they both stepped into a warm vestibule. She wiped her snow-damp shoes on a mat as an officer in his early fifties approached.
    “Miss Forrester. Pleased to meet you. I’m Major Woolrich.” She took his proffered hand and liked the brief firm grip he offered.
    “Thank you, Major Atkins. That will be all.” After a casual salute he led her down a corridor to his office. Once inside, he motioned her toward one of two armchairs and sat down in the other, then drew a pipe from his shirt pocket. He fished a matchbox up from the same pocket, lit the already-full bowl, and puffed a few times to get it going. Relaxing back into his chair, he crossed his legs.
    “I understand you were injured at Dunkirk,” he said. “I trust by now you are fully recovered. It was burns, wasn’t it?”
    “Burns, ribs, broken shoulder, and a concussion. And yes, I’m fully recovered. Thank you for asking, Major.”
    “I’m glad to hear it because some of what we will be doing here is very taxing. But let me start at the beginning.”
    He puffed a few times on his pipe. “Beaulieu is part of eleven schools on or near this estate, each one teaching a different skill, and you will have a superficial experience of all of them. The point, of course, is to determine your strengths, and the sort of mission we might send you on will